


Remnants of Lavender and Blue

by little_sundays



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Against the Wall - Freeform, Angst, Bathroom Sex, Fingering, Gen, Kinky, Kitchen Sex, Multi, Oral, Plot With Porn, Porn With Plot, Riding, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2020-08-09
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:21:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21955060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/little_sundays/pseuds/little_sundays
Summary: There's a small bruise engraved on her nape--a little tell-tale sign of love and possession--a remnant and a remainder of a connection only they share.A collection of aged-up haikyuu scenarios.
Relationships: Futakuchi Kenji/Reader, Hinata Shouyou/Reader, Kageyama Tobio/Reader, Sakusa Kiyoomi/Reader, Sawamura Daichi/Reader, Tsukishima Kei/Reader, Ukai Keishin/Reader, yuzuru komaki/reader
Comments: 6
Kudos: 169





	1. Prologue

The morning felt hazy after running a hand through his locks. He seemed like a dream from the way he rests his head in the crook of your neck to the tight grip he has on your waist, and the small pecks he left on your skin. Moans left you almost immediately after the sudden push and thrust of his hips into yours, all these affected him sensually clouding his mind and senses until he no longer needed the oxygen to keep him grounded in this plane of existence. 

"I love you," he whispered on your skin. Like a silent plea, you simply let go while your fingers remained buried in his hair and skin leaving remnants of marks and bruises.


	2. Sawamura Daichi: A pint of orange

There was something so peculiar with the train's scent being paired exactly with its music; the scenery change every minute; the slow exit and entrance of each passenger; and the silence that enveloped the strangers who might at one point become connected. The pace was different here compared to your culture. Japan was a country of extremities: high or low, but never in between. It wasn't much of a struggle for you to understand such exotic traditions of the place; however, there were exceptions or preferably restrictions that have been regarded as taboos and controversies by the elders. One of which included your appearance and the manner of which you spoke; as a result, this had garnered a lot of attention and curious glances from people. The orange tips and piercings were bold statements that almost deviated from the norm—an anomaly—and as a result you were often mistaken as part of a rebellious group. These, however, were trivial things and not everyone in the crowd had the same mindset or interest.

The next stop had called your attention, abruptly tensing the others around you, but you only gave them a polite nod before stopping in front of the doors to prepare for the full stop. It was only a short moment of broadcast, a glimpse of swift flight and a pair of wings protruding from the back almost as if it were growing immensely until it was cut short by a shampoo advertisement. Heaving a sigh, you dropped your gaze back to doors which were finally opening slowly brushing you with the cool breeze. Gently, you lifted your luggage and exited out the train, only to be bumped by a stranger on the way out. The person seemed to panic at his sudden action and was about apologize when you waved it off and muttered, “It’s all right.”

The boy had not seen your face, but had caught a glimpse of the orange tint in your hair and the few piercings on both your ears that almost didn’t match your mellow voice. The last call from the train station pulled him back to his senses and immediately he scurries into the vehicle before it starts closing its doors. He sighs to himself trying to keep himself focused on the following practices and the next games. It was his last year, his last chance, and his last moment before they move on to a new life leaving behind all these memories.

On the other side of the tracks was just different entirely on the concept of memories; you stood in front of the Sakanoshita store reminiscing the smell of smoke and the boisterous personality of the guy behind the counter—Ukai Keishin—your aunt’s close friend. Nearly—you nearly decided against the idea of greeting him and making your presence known to your second family despite knowing the fact that they’d willingly let you stay with them. Haply, you just ran out of luck for the day, because Ukai was in a hurry for Karasuno’s practice. He met your gaze on his way out causing him to stop dead in his tracks. He’d last seen you five years ago, still a growing child; you were different now. Every encounter he has of you wasn’t ever the same, and he’d be denying the fact that you were growing more into a woman. The gruff sound coming from you made him raise a brow, “Morning, Ukai, where you heading off to?”

It had been an outrageous decision of yours to visit Miyagi once more while your parents were busy venturing around Tokyo, which nearly resulted into an argument specifically due to your mom’s overprotective attitude. Somehow, there had been an unspoken deal between your parents and not a moment later had they let you off the hook so easily.

The older male retorts, “I could say the same thing for you. Why the hell did you wander off here on your own?”

“Do you know how difficult it is to third-wheel your own parents?” You muttered which was barely audible to Ukai, but he saw the puff of air forming from your mouth—it was nearing Winter after all. You added, “I wanted to know how you guys have been doing, and I used to come here every year but it’s becoming difficult now especially when I’m starting college in a few months.”

Ukai releases a bit of tension from his upper body when he sees you in a rather serene state—you were remembering—and so he slides the door to give you some space before saying, “Drop your bags upstairs, I’ll wait for you here.”

Without another word, you followed his demand as quickly as possible. “I’m grabbing a bag of chips on my way out.” Your head poked out of the window from the guest room, “Am I allowed to steal one _coolish_ ice cream?”

You didn’t miss the subtle twitch of his brow when he replied, “Grab whatever you want and shut up.”

There was little to no exchange between the two of you even after entering school grounds, a particular high school that didn’t seem as prestigious as the ones back home. It was pretty silent and tidy; almost no one loitered at this hour. Extremely silent, you’d describe. Somehow, you acted more as an object that was completely out of place or an intruder—you just felt different. Ukai, eventually, caught up to your discomfort, “Is being next to an old guy bothering you that much?”

“What?” You almost wanted to kick him hard, but you didn’t want to create a fuss. “The silence is just deafening, moron.”

“Thought you’d call me an ass instead. You really are evolving.” He whistled with a grin before ruining your hair, “You’ll love the noise, then.”

You didn’t have much time to dwell on his sudden statement when the door to the gym slid open. Loud voices rang in your ears, the sound of sneakers coming in contact with the wooden floor, the severe impact of the ball against solid surfaces, and the heavy breathing all coming from the building had brought back the adrenaline. The rush of stealing the ball from your opponent, the running, that short-lived freedom you felt on the field, the last kick into the goal came back to you hitting you full-force. Watching them, although different from your own sport, brought back that feeling—the triumph. However, even just a flash, you saw that swift movement which prepared him to propel off the ground and leap into the air higher than you’ve ever seen, that amused you.

“I can see why you’re following grandfather’s footsteps, Ukai. Potential stems from people who are both hungry and thirsty.” You said finally catching the attention of the people from inside, “And when polished becomes deadlier than talent.”

He laughs silently as he stares at the rather bewildered look of the freshman, “Prodigies are different—they are on a different radar; a different scale—“

“A different tangent. Perhaps, that’s what most people see and expect, but I don’t stand on that same field anymore, do I?” Ukai had gone silent before you finished your sentence. He knew that your own experience on the field had been short and full of regrets and disappointments—perhaps, you even suffered alone after you stepped down from your position of captain of the football team. There’s a rather solemn glint hidden behind your stare, he notices but you cover it up immediately with one of bemusement, you uttered while nodding at the shorter boy, “Who is that kid?”

“Hinata Shouyo,” Ukai said his name with conviction and pride that almost had you envious. Never once have you felt inferior to other people and their capabilities, but that’s exactly what happened when another member showed up and outshined you with her own thirst for victory. In the end, you retired without giving the last unit meet another chance to prove yourself to the team. It was an unbearable weight you carried alone, or so it seemed.

“I apologize for barging in and saying those words, I might have offended some of you.” You gave them a slight bow before telling them all the smaller details about you, “I used to a football captain, but I retired a year ago.”

Sawamura couldn’t believe how a sweet and raspy voice could belong to a girl with such a strong demeanor. The way you were resembled a hard candy with syrup at the very center. If he were more honest with himself he’d have admitted to drowning in your existence. Somehow, there exists a stronger bond between the former and the current captain standing only a few feet apart. His focus suddenly goes back to the rest of the team when you turn to him with a patient look, “Sawamura Daichi, third year and captain of the team.”

Eventually, a small smile creeps its way to your features catching the majority of the team off-guard. For your image—sweet or anything feminine didn’t match, but the way you stood there with confidence and curiosity was enough to dispel any dirty remarks about you. That much Daichi knew—he never liked judging someone based on their appearance especially when he had a team full of it.

“You’re being extremely silent, Sawamura, it’s making me uneasy.” Sugawara spoke out of the blue. The captain paid more attention to your presence than his own friend especially when you were showing off your leg strength to the freak duo. He felt so much of a creep just staring blankly at your form, the way your lean muscles occasionally showed up when you were bending or playing around. These were moments that he loathed most when he knew the direction of his thoughts—that they’d quickly morph into perverse ones. Ones that include his head in between your thighs, hands gripping firmly on your own thighs, whispers and pants going directly into his ear and clouding up his rational thoughts. He had imagined you naked on his bed, on top of him, against his body, the warmth that radiated off of you, the little movements of your hips, and even the soft traces of your fingertips. He thought, what would it be like?

“Sawamura,” you said. It sounded different on your lips, which resulted into his ears perking up abruptly and this doesn’t go unnoticed by the other boy. You added when he pulled himself up and strutted towards you, “Eyes don’t hide emotions, they’re terrible at it. Am I disrupting your pace, Sawamura?”

He gets a better view of your own eyes and they’re just as curious as the first time you stepped into this gym. The words that left him felt serene as if he had entered such a wonderland and for the first time he never regretted saying it, “You make it difficult for me to look away, so it's not really disrupting my pace. It's not like you're a bad distraction to me, I'd like to keep it this way until you say you want more.”

He could’ve said more, whisper everything to you and make you feel important; however, the red tint of your cheeks was enough to please his inner desire. For now, he was contented with your subtle reactions to his advancements slowly inching closer to you every time. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't write a smut scene, because I felt as if I wanted to end it on that note. Sometimes, I forget that these characters have personalities as well so I wanted to focus more on the relationship and how both their characters could somewhat establish this comfortable bond between them. I might write a part 2 for this soon, hopefully.
> 
> Requests are willingly accepted.


	3. Kageyama Tobio: The acidity of lemon candies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by carluwu

The amount of excitement coursing through the entire arena was incomprehensible. It took a few moments to focus on a particular scene especially when everyone was moving in such a haste to keep the ball from touching the ground. Everything was loud and fast—a little too spontaneous—there was no pause or breather. Like a sugar rush, nothing seemed possible in your eyes because their movements were calculated and quick not sparing any time to think slowly but thoroughly before the execution. It was aggressive, nothing like the calm and fluid structure of swimming. There was a loud impact coming from the court which caught your attention instantly pulling your gaze away from the other teams. The air seemed to be sliced with the intensity of the male’s spike that even the swiftness created its own sound resonating within the gymnasium. Whoever spiked that hard was an actual powerhouse that terrified you even in normal circumstances, because that only meant that they were stronger, taller, and more muscular than you. All of these seemed to be abandoned by your mind when you heard a crowd full of young girls swarming around your school’s team—Kitagawa Daiichi’s men’s volleyball team, the favored and favorite. The amount of attention the team garnered from the school was to be envied, and so there had been a feeling of disdain that you projected towards the club. You loathed them. It was a wrong direction of projection, but they were really the cause of the problem.

Now, it was quite different, you weren’t near the shore admiring the stones, the sand, the waves or even the sound of the sea. Here you were clicking away furiously on the camera taking multiple shots of every member as they start their first set, you were recording each of their movements and analyzing their own play. For a split of a second, you caught a glimpse of a prodigy standing alone on the court fighting and thriving for his own team whilst abandoning the other member’s capabilities; hence, he pushes them to their limits. He seemed lonely. You recalled from the president of the journal club that the prodigy of the men’s volleyball team was a first year, a lowerclassman of yours, Kageyama Tobio. He didn’t seem to have many friends, because of his stingy personality, but you eventually could see why. Slowly, you put down the camera to watch the game to observe both teams. Maybe it had been a glitch in the matrix for a moment, but you could barely keep your mouth close when you saw a boy from the opposing team soar higher than you’ve ever seen. That was news to you; it was far more interesting than your own team. However, it had ended quickly for both teams and there you noted the desperation seething within the boy as he faced Kageyama once more. You noted before leaving the gym, the kid had guts to spare. 

“You saw the game, didn’t you? How was it?” Yoshino questioned while pulling out a few files from the shelves. Carefully, you made your way down the ladder after searching for the stacks sent to you by the librarian. You had no intentions of answering the question, because you were never fascinated by the fast momentum of each play. Although it was different for most girls in Kitagawa Daiichi, it wasn’t about the game or the victory it had always been about the boys.

“Was there anything that piqued your interest? A boy at least?” She asked once more trying to fish out any information from you. You recalled, eventually, the kid’s name was Hinata Shoyou, but aside from him Kageyama Tobio’s presence was unforgettable on the court. For a freshman, earning the name of King of the court was something to be proud of; however, it seemed to be the opposite for him.

You finally spared her a glance making her grin in pure excitement, but it all came to a halt, “There’s this kid from another team that seemed promising. He was short like a real middle schooler, and loud too. You’d be amazed, Yoshino, for his height he can absolutely and will surely fly.”

Writing wasn’t your least favorite hobby nor was it your first. It just felt more like a task begging to be done early. However, all these words invading your mind was enough to keep you awake at night, so you pulled up an all-nighter for the sports article. The talk you had with Yoshino lasted longer than expected and kept changing constantly as you tried to avoid any topic about the captain or even the prodigy. It was an endless exploration of vivid images that invaded your mind at the middle of the night, you kept seeing the young boy toss without anyone backing him up and for even a moment you sympathized with him.

That had been your last article about the team and it had been the talk of the year due to Oikawa Tooru’s boisterous fans, but you were thankful for their enthusiasm towards your work. You’ve been receiving several gifts from them as well—mostly chocolates and lemon candies—enough to lighten up your mood every day. On top of your desk was another pack of sweets, just like any other day, and you were delighted by the sight.

“Just because of one article, and you’re suddenly like a god to Oikawa’s fandom.” Keigo said in jest while choosing a flavor he wanted, “We thank thee for providing us all the juicy info about our king.”

You gave him a light shove before settling on your seat, “I guess that isn’t so bad. There’s no bad blood, Keigo, I get something in return from accomplishing a club task.”

It had only been a club. You never considered it to be more, so leaving the Journalism club and Kitagawa Daiichi wasn’t something you reminisce a lot. Eventually, you pursued your studies elsewhere and away from the other volleyball players that you once despised. However, you continued to write for the school’s newspaper out of habit and a lack of club participation since the swimming team was lacking. The atmosphere was different in Karasuno compared to your junior high school, and almost all the clubs weren’t excellent. None of them ever came near to prefectural tournaments, so each article you wrote became filler which forced you to shift in departments. Feature writing required more creativity so the sudden shift became a nuisance to you.

There had been a repeated shuffle on your end accompanied by clicking and continuous sighs. After a while you avert your gaze to the senior beside you, “Isn’t this just an observation rather than a story?”

“Every story starts with an observation.” Denji articulated, “Just like how a relationship starts with an introduction of connection and emotion.”

“I’ve never been in a relationship, so I can’t relate to the analogy.” You mutter softly before moving to the printing press to finish the other stacks left behind by the other members yesterday. Denji, on the other hand, frowns at you for a moment only to reiterate what he meant, “A relationship doesn’t have to be sexual or romantic. It could be based on pure hatred or love or friendship. Have you ever hated someone so much without logical reason?”

The first person to pop up in your mind was Kageyama before the entire volleyball team. You could only abandon those thoughts after giving Denji a harsh glare. There was no response on your end, but another frustrated sigh directed to the upperclassman.

“I see, so it’s personal.” He answers his own question whilst nodding. Afterwards, the conversation had died down without further exchange between the two of you. During this time, you worked quickly and efficiently on the last stacks to finally excuse yourself from the journalism office and let your mind rest. Karasuno was a small-scaled school compared to Shiratorizawa or Aoba Josai; however, it was the perfect fit for you because of its peaceful atmosphere. The swimming pool would always be free in the afternoon; no one comes in or goes—almost like it was abandoned.

For a moment, the tranquility establishes this sense of calmness within you even after you’ve dipped yourself in the water. The soft movement of cold waves pressing against your skin was enough to uncoil the tension you felt after the exchange with Denji; although, short-lived it seemed.

“Kageyama, is she dead?” A voice stutters, but is abruptly shut down by a harsh tone, “She isn’t, you moron.”

However, despite the assurance and futile conviction there seems to lie an increasing amount of doubt behind his words that he panics to call for help. The two boys start bouncing around completely broken down by the scene in front of them—a female student afloat on the pool face-first on the water and unmoving—which translated to them a murder scene. The noise of the two reaches your ear and immediately you lower torso until your feet touches the floor. With a glare, you stare down at them only to recognize them from the volleyball match you had focused on about in middle school. The King of the Court, as he was known, and the boy who could jump stood there limply not exactly experienced with this scenario.

Finally getting out of the pool, you walked towards your school uniform and despite being completely drenched you decided that leaving instantly was better than facing a flabbergasted duo.

“I’m Hinata Shoyo,” a voice chirps a little distantly as he tried to keep away from your space, “this is Kageyama Tobio. What were you doing in the pool?”

For some reason, you didn’t feel the need to be hostile to Hinata, and it probably was due to the fact that you witnessed his loss which had been similar to your club’s shutdown. Perhaps, you wanted to rub it on Kageyama’s face when you stated it, “I used to be a swimmer in Kitagawa Daiichi until our club got shunned.”

Kageyama wasn’t completely clueless about the other clubs that got shutdown in his former school, but he wasn’t aware that the volleyball team reaped away the opportunities of the other sports club specifically the swimming team. After all, they used to be the ones competing in the nationals always bringing back home the bacon and yet they helped raise funds for the other clubs such as his own only for it to backfire. 

“It was nice meeting you, Hinata.” Once you were done changing, you turn to both of them before leaving, “I’ll see you around, king.”

Kageyama always grimaced at the title the moment it left your lips and the repeated mocking of the four-eyed blonde—he didn’t know what else to call him. It was a title you made for him after writing so many articles about their matches, the Grand King which was Oikawa Tooru and Kageyama’s King of the Court. They were both selfish for victory, yet different in scale as one of them was talented and the other was skilled; the title was similar because of their need to prove their worth as a ruler of the team. That if it weren’t for them, the team would’ve collapsed in on itself and there would be no support.

His thoughts soon came to halt when you entered the vicinity. You approached the captain with a few questions and approvals so that you could garner information about them to build the sports article that would be featured on the next school issue. You had no distaste towards Karasuno’s volleyball team since all the clubs started on equal footing trying to reach for the nationals was the school’s dream and not only a one team dream which was different from your middle school years. There was always a need for competition when the clubs found out that the swimming team got into nationals. Kitagawa Daiichi’s volleyball team was greedy even before Oikawa took the captain position; the former captain of the volleyball team muddied the reputation of the club to try and gain some form of benefit from the blackmail. Eventually, the club was dismissed after the principal got hold of the news. Although you knew the truth about the blackmail, your former captain opted not to reveal the truth of the situation because it would be against his ideologies; he did not seek for revenge. You knew otherwise.

“So that one,” Tanaka Ryuu hummed beside Kageyama, he continued in a coo, “I thought you were a volleyball junkie, but you have good eyes.”

“No, I was just—“

“Don’t deny it,” Tanaka lifts his brows repeatedly before adding, “She’s one of our best journalists. Quite popular in Karasuno for her writing and physical figure. From what I’ve heard she used to be a swimmer in—“

“Kitagawa Daiichi, I know. I know her.” Kageyama interrupts his upperclassman to put a stop on his chattering. Aside from that, however different the sport is, he admired her achievements all plastered in the halls of his former school. He saw her compete once back when he was just applying for middle school it was on a school event and he came with his sister. He wasn’t at all invested in swimming, but his sister wanted him to come along to support her classmate. You were there already preparing yourself and readying your position for the dive. The moment the final whistle blew, you dove into the water with speed and precision. Kageyama watched that moment closely trying to understand how someone could move with that speed under water. 

_All stories start with an observation._

When the team finally climbed up to prefectural meet and continued onto nationals, your work increased as well. Meeting and talking to Kageyama became frequent, although it was purely for information. Your hostility towards him died down as you saw him struggle to get point after point against powerhouse teams. You reminded yourself that it wasn’t his fault to begin with. That even he had been lonely when his former team abandoned him. The night you wrote your last article for your senior year in Karasuno was basically a confession on the featured category and a news article on the sports. You started with the truth, your distaste for him and where he had gotten his title. The confession was a whole page and you were certain of the change that will arrive once the issue comes out. You’d have graduated by then and he would’ve been the top 3 volleyball player in Japan.

“No, mom, we just ran out of fuel. We were able to spot a gas station near the shore, you know, the one almost near the village.” You half-shouted to the phone held near your left ear, “I’ll see you soon.”

It had been a year since you last visited your hometown; Sendai didn’t particularly offer you the college programs you wanted, so you had to transfer to Tokyo to take creative writing as a degree. There were better opportunities there: writing conferences and competitions, as well as a fully equipped swimming facility and team. You liked it there because you were able to start fresh and anew. In Sendai, you weren’t sure about where you stood or how those you knew before would react to seeing you. At least, you were certain that he wasn’t around to stay here either. Your interactions, before you had published the last article that is, were plenty and it had built a solid friendship with him as he slowly opened up about his own difficulties on the court and how growing up alone almost broke him, but he continued on because that was his dream. At that moment, that was the first time your heart jumped at his words—he sounded mature. You realized then that king wasn’t such an ominous title on him; it fit him perfectly.

Perhaps, that was the reason behind your late night confession. It was an explanation for yourself and an apology to him, because there was no logical reason for you to have given him that name. It was just a wrong projection of hate that you directed at him and his team years ago. He taught you how to grow from those past mistakes, and for a brief moment you were thankful for that moment with him.

The sky was getting darker, but the waves continued to clash against another to create a reverberation from where you were currently sitting. The sand was warm against your skin, but you didn’t mind. For now, everything was set in the right place.

“You’re back.” It’s a whisper of an all too familiar voice, yet it’s enough to cast your gaze away from the shore and to the male. His hair is parted in the middle far from the old image he had back in high school, he developed muscles from training and he seemed taller that when you stood you could barely reach his chin.

Kageyama couldn’t pry his eyes away from your figure that had grown so much not that he paid attention to all the details before, but he did notice the faint blush on your cheeks that only lasted a few seconds and maybe the pure shock in your eyes. He knew you weren’t ready to face him yet after you wrote that last article; truthfully, he knew you were going through a lot that he didn’t run after you when you graduated. If someone else were to read that confession they would’ve been hurt or even angry, but he wasn’t; instead, he felt glad that you had left him a message. You were, after all, the person who gave him the title of the king which has completely turned his whole life around. If it weren’t for your writing, he wouldn’t have gotten himself a position or even a spot as a volleyball player in the entire nation.

If it weren’t for you, he thought, heading back home would’ve been lonely.

“Kageyama, hey,” you spoke out of nervousness not entirely sure what to expect from him whilst you organized your own disarray of emotions and unspoken feelings towards the male. Your heart was beating a little too loudly in your chest as you continued, “you look well.”

The sun was slowly setting while you two stood there in a rather tensed atmosphere surrounded by external noises. Kageyama is the first one to break after a long pause of just nodding his head and your constant aversion of gaze, “Are you staying here for the whole summer?”

“I believe so,” you relax a bit, “I haven’t seen my family and friends for a year.”

I haven’t seen you for two years, they both thought simultaneously. There were many questions that Kageyama wanted to ask you. _Did you have someone? Are you here alone? Can we talk?_ But you spoke up first, “How about you? How are things going on your end?”

“I’ve been busy with practice. Hinata went away, abroad really, so I’m here on my own.” You stared at him for a moment as he explained the whereabouts of the others and how he’ll be joining a volleyball league soon. You smiled softly, laughing a little as you looked down, “Seems exciting. You always wanted to be a pro volleyball player, and you’re finally achieving it. I’m proud of you, Kageyama.”

The sudden offbeat jump of his heart at the sight of your smile and your words alone was enough for him to take a sharp inhale. The time is ticking fast and he knows you’re about leave soon, so he tried to make the most of it by asking you his last question, “I never got to know your dream—“

“Van’s good to go, captain! Better hurry your ass up here or we’ll leave you.” A teammate shouted from the road above the beach, so you responded quickly to their call. You turned to Kageyama with a grin, “I have a team of my own and I couldn’t ask for better swimmers than them. It’s not really a dream, but I’m pursuing writing and I’m having fun.”

“You want to come with?” You asked softly watching the way he scratches his head at your sudden offer, but he replies with, “I’m good. I don’t live too far from here. Plus, I wouldn’t want you to miss out on spending time with your family and friends.”

There’s a quick pause on your end, because you’re debating whether to tell him part of the truth that you left out in the article. You recalled Denji’s words.

_Just like how a relationship starts with an introduction of connection and emotion._

Eventually, a final ultimatum settles in when you pull him closer and finally kiss him. There’s a small movement on your nape to keep you in place, so that you don’t leave his lips too quickly. He doesn’t want you to go away, so he’ll make this last.

The moment you pull away feels like seconds and you wonder why you ever hated him before, because the way he looks at you is pure adoration and fulfillment. You whisper as your hands finally let go of his shirt, “I guess, you’ve always been my dream.”

“Is that so,” he hums only to earn himself a punch on the shoulder; hence, you reply, “I’m trying to be romantic, you ass.”

The laugh he lets out causes you to look away not allowing him to see your flushed face. It doesn’t last for long when you hear another warning from above, but this time your team sees the two of you. Their eyes widen for a moment before they started teasing, “Hey captain, we leave you for a few minutes and you already have yourself a boyfriend. Jesus, at least let us know.”

You look back at Kageyama with an apologetic smile, “I promise they’re great swimmers. Hey, I have to go.”

“Call me when you do get home.” He lets go of you and watches your back as you leave him there, but he knows you’ll come back.

The morning after a continuous downpour has to be one of your favorites, because of the fresh scent of morning dew, rain and leaves. It’s also the best weather for a cup of cocoa and so you prepared Kageyama’s hot milk on the side while he’s still asleep. It’s only been a few minutes when a pair of arms wrapped around your waist and a chest leaning against your back is felt. Kageyama rests his head against your neck breathing in as he murmurs a small morning with a soft kiss against your skin.

“Day off?” He nods at your question. The gesture was small and cute, but the moment his hand started moving under your shirt no longer was it classified cute. His lips started trailing kisses along the line of your neck while he dug his hand under your shorts to start rubbing you. Your hands held onto the kitchen counter as his fingers started playing with the bud added with his constant grinding against your behind. Kageyama watched you hung your head back until it rested against his shoulder. Watching you moan and whine against him caused him to buck his hips harsher into you while pushing a finger into your labia and eventually into your cunt.

You let out a sigh when he adds another finger in slowly moving it up and down while his thumb rubs circles around your clit, “Tobio.”

He knows just from the whisper of his own name that you want more. That you always crave for more from him, and he could never complain. The movement of your hips against him makes him groan softly into your ear resulting into the buckling of your legs, but Kageyama holds you up. He eventually brings you to your high, but he doesn’t stop there.

Kageyama turns you around, so that you’re facing him instead and for him to easily wrap your legs around his hips. He brings you to the long table before stripping both of you of your bottoms. Not long after, he pushes you down the table with his free hand trapping both of yours above your head. His other hand moves down your body slowly settling on your thigh to keep it from closing. You pant a little when he grinds your now naked bottom half against his shaft. It’s enough for you beg under him, “Please, _Tobio_.”

He smiles at you, but it’s rather sleepy and cocky, “Not yet.”

After a moment of humping against you, he finally inserts the tip into your hole which earns him a sigh so sweet it’s impossible for him to hold back; however, he does. He isn’t giving in so easily to the divine image of you before him—flushed red all over, his shirt hiking up on your body, the consistent rising and falling of your chest and the dilated pupils of yours directed at him. Even with the wiggle of your hips, he’s taking his time getting the pleasure he needs from you just to bring you to the brink of tears while you’re left wanting him. He likes the idea of you craving only him, but he likes you on edge again and again as well. He states, “Behave, I’ll give you what you want.”

“Fuck’s sake, Tobio, I made you your hot milk and this is how you treat me.” You bit back trying to alleviate the tension you were feeling in your abdomen. At this point, you were frustrated that you lie there waiting for him to snap his hips into yours. You cry while looking away from his face, “I need you.”

He has half the heart to deny you when you’re already begging for him, but he has to wrap himself up for you. He gives himself a few pumps before lining himself into your entrance once again. Finally, he thought, he sheaths himself deeply inside of you making you moan out like a prayer. Your body arcs at the way he thrusts into you as if tuning you to his liking. Kageyama was always headstrong and fierce in a game, and it wasn’t any different when it came to loving you either. He’d bring you to your orgasm as many times as you needed him to. His thrusts were sharp and brutal as it translated to his undying love for you and the pleasure you willingly give him. He indulges in you until he’s satisfied and so are you.

“I want to edge you.” You blush at his choice of words slowly hiding your face against his chest. He smirks at the sight and follows-up on his statement. You’re a moaning mess against him, but he likes it that way. He brings you to the edge before coming to a halt then proceeding to move his hips as rougher and as faster than the first time. Ultimately, your nails start digging into his back warning him about your high, yet he continues on to see the way you shiver and tremble against him. Despite his lingering gaze at the way you convulse around him, he can’t help to kiss you when your mouth remains agape.

The moment you reach your climax is the same moment Kageyama releases his own. He rests his forehead against yours to examine your crimson tainted cheeks and your bruised lips. You slowly caress his face when you uttered, “I would really like to go on and start the day with chocolate, but you had to fuck me into submission. Now the drinks’ are cold.”

“I’ll just reheat them in the microwave.” He sighs about to do what he said when you pulled back down to you, “No, you almost burned up the microwave with lemonade because I told you to heat it.”

“All right,” Kageyama holds your waist to pull you up, “I’m sorry about that. It was an accident. Like I said, won’t do it again.”

“You know,” you murmur rather wearily, “ _Ad astra per aspera_. I’m glad we met again at Karasuno.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I write for all characters, I kind of don't hold back when it comes to writing because it's one of the only other hobbies where I get to express my creativity. I'm also a bnha writer on the side, but haikyuu has a special place in my heart. Short plug, but I'm also an artist on instagram and if you guys want to support me even more please check out _teianjin_ on instagram :)) thank you soo much!!
> 
> I'm sorry I took this long to finally write this. I lost the motivation to write for a while now, since I mostly focused on art. However, I'm back now.


	4. Tsukishima Kei: A Saturation of Strawberries and Peach

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by GraphicPickles

The ukiyo-e, a spitting image of death represented by a massive skeletal creature among the samurais, was the centerpiece of the hallway. The aristocrat stood there rather pensive as he took a closer inspection of the woman holding a scroll—her eyes were full of pain as if betrayed—in the painting. He shifts his attention to the blood red ink engraved on the bottom right of the piece. The small detail suffices, and so he leaves without pondering on the whereabouts of this painter. The thought remains in his mind even as he goes into slumber; if they have had lived, why paint death under a woman’s influence when men were in power?

He seeks out the painter’s abode after inquiring about them from his teacher. When he reaches his destination, he learns that an older lady tended the garden of the house. Immediately, he opens his mouth to ask, “Excuse me, I would like to speak to Sir Utagawa Kuniyoshi. I am Tsukishima Kei, son of General Tsukishima of Kyushu.”

The lady pauses slowly turning to the male with a sad smile, “I’m sorry young man, but the painter passed away thirteen years ago. Would you like to come in and have some tea?” 

The younger man nodded his head slowly before entering the house. Walls were lined and decorated by the late painter’s works aside from the noticeable katana resting on its stand in a separate room. Then, he questions, “What is your relation to the painter? That is if it’s all right to ask of you.”

“He is my older brother; although, only a few know.” The lady smiles softly while pouring the tea onto the porcelain cups, “I would also like to know why you’re looking for him.”

“I wanted to ask him something; a favor, specifically. However, it seems impossible now.” The boy bows his head before sipping on the hot cha. There’s an immediate silence that envelopes both of them, only for him to ask again after a moment. “Do you have any painters in the family that could accept my request?”

The older lady purses her lips for a few seconds; thus, looks him in the eye with a firm answer purely of denial. Tsukishima’s eyes scan the entire room not entirely trusting the woman before him especially when he noticed a few fresh pints and brushes scattered around the top shelves. He notices a small streak of black ink on the wall that if he hadn’t observed every nook and corner of the house, he’d be leaving with nothing. If they couldn’t provide him any answer, he’d seek for one on his own and that included the truth that the woman couldn’t willingly hand to him.

He excuses himself after sharing tea with her; hence, he bids his farewell. Tsukishima is an observer; he pays attention to anything in front and around him. In this event, whatever he needs to observe isn’t present.

Heading downtown to find a replica of the painter was an awful and tedious workload, but he decided it wouldn’t harm him if he tried to search for one. The market was full of merchants and artisans selling off any heirloom or old property in exchange for a small amount of money; desperate to strive off of the current industrialization of Japan. A unison of auctions and biddings encapsulated the area, and not once was there a pause. Multiple men approach him to sell service, products or stolen items; he doesn’t spare them a glance. Then, he turns right into a small alleyway where most painters reside.

Art was a luxury, he was aware of its value, but this was for personal use. He needed the same hands and mind of the Edo painter, so he doubted anyone could replicate his style. The times he passed by store after store examining each art and execution was endless—he was going nowhere with this. Eventually, his last stop had been a store owned by his grandfather’s old acquaintance.

The place was basically a hoarding station; a collection of fabrics, papers, paint, woodwork, and scraps designed the entire store. It was dusty and in complete disarray giving little space for a person to strut around, so he called out instead. “Mr. Hirohito, it’s Tsukishima’s grandson, I would like to speak with you.”

Instead of meeting a ragged out man, he faces a young girl wrapping silk fabric around her head before moving the bought out items away from the wooden planked floor. Tsukishima’s curiosity gets the better of him as he patiently waits for her to turn to him; although, he doesn’t exactly have any motive. Certainly, she meets his gaze, and they both hold onto it for longer than a second before she decides to bow her head out of respect.

“Sir Tsukishima! You’ve grown since I’d last seen you.” Hirohito exclaims proud, “What did you need?”

However, his attention switches from him to the girl beside them, “This is Utagawa Kuniyoshi’s niece and the daughter of Lord Sanada of Edo.”

“Pleased to meet you, Sir Tsukishima.” She bows meticulously before adding, “If you would excuse me, I must be on my way home.”

There would always be a reason for his silence; rarely, did he ever speak of trivial things or point them out to the mass. He knew not to delve into them with other people when it interested him most. It was a selfish thought, but he was selfish to begin with. Turning back to the owner of the store, he utters, “Hosho—that’s all I need.”

Hosho—was the standard paper used for ukiyo-e—and vermilion ink were plastered all over your mat as you thought hard on the theme of the painting. You thought back on Utagawa Kuniyoshi, your best memory of him, when he discovered that you gained his gift at an early age. Amidst his own disappointment, he became your mentor to polish the talent you had that may someday be known; however, the future was uncertain for your kind. The painter did not have many regrets, yet he wished you hadn’t acquired this specific trait from him—that may have been his only regret. Growing up, you understood why he hesitated; eventually, you signed the paintings under your brother’s name to cover up your own identity.

Painting or art wasn’t an available opportunity for women. To put simply, nothing was an available opportunity for women as Japan mobilized into modernization under the rule of Emperor Meiji. Women were expected to stay at home and tend to their children, only be a wife and mother and nothing more. Your uncle didn’t abide with that belief. It was evident in most of his work.

 _Strokes in this form of art were fluid_ , he would explain usually after establishing a base that acts as a foundation for the entire piece, _if you move stiffly the direction of your line will be cut short which will appear unfinished to the observer. Ukiyo-e translates to ‘floating world’; hence, its dreamlike nature, thus the entire tone of the piece should embrace infinity. After all, it is a world of pure possibilities._

Your activity was always set during night. Always cautious of your surroundings and the people who listen and watch even from afar. In broad daylight, you worked indoors cleaning the house and preparing food to be placed on the table before all the males arrive. Perhaps, not every day was like today, because you had focused on the laundry first rather than the meals.

“Pardon me,” a voice coming from your left startles you which resulted to you instantly facing the son of the general. Queasiness and nervousness took over your entire being as you stood there frozen as you looked into his eyes. Additionally, he muttered, “Your mother and I had a small chat over the other day and I would like you to confirm the truth. Are there any painters left in your family?”

The moment he addressed his question his eyes caught sight of your fingers—chipped and dirty. Bluntly expressing his thoughts, he doesn’t reconsider his surroundings.

“Perhaps, you’re a painter? Correct if I’m mistaken, but I did notice the red pigment tainting your nails.” Tsukishima adds quietly observing the horror in your eyes at his sudden assumption, “That pigment comes from cinnabar; coincidentally, the mineral is highly toxic.”

The look on your face morphs into a blank expression as you tried to carry on your daily task within the household, but he trespasses to grab ahold of your wrist and prohibit you from fleeing the scene. His immediate reaction towards your reluctance is to glare at you. The man’s persistence irked you, so you glared back bemusing him. The question remains unanswered, “I’ll leave you alone once you tell me.”

You refute instantly not sparing him another glance as you break away from his grasp, “Sir Tsukishima, I’m only a woman, and I am not capable of such gift. You speak of my brother, a direct pupil of the late painter, not me. Like my mother, I help only with chores or any requests that he may have may it be ink or paper, but I do not paint.”

“Is that so?” There is an air of control within radius of his presence, but you remain unbothered to the naked eye. You answer him with a question of your own that mostly sounds like a demand, “Dare you think I’m capable of lying?”

“I’ve heard your mother lie once, isn’t it only safe to assume that you might be as well?” The male shakes his head at your defensive bark. Slowly, he straightens the creases of his clothes as he distances himself from you as you appeared distress to him. You lower your head while still looking away, “Forgive my mother for she often forgets. It pains her to see the resemblance of her son to her late brother.”

His response, however, is arrogant—Tsukishima was apathetic to others—mainly because of his suspicion towards you. You were an awful liar, he noted from your apparent skin picking. He scoffs at the thought, you were anxious.

“If your brother does paint, I’d like to see him perform one in my house. All materials will be provided on the spot, so I expect him when he’s ready.” Initial panic sets in after fully realizing the compromised position you were in. He intended to see a work executed in front of him by a pair of hands that could not recreate the style of Kuniyoshi. His next words were dreadful, “but you must be present.”

All the air leaves your lungs when he departs as if the whole world was swallowing you up from the ground. Your vision slowly blurred out every single object in front of you. His motives were horrific—nothing else frightened you more than his growing suspicion. Why was he determined to pursue the truth? Would it offer him money, a position, credit, or any benefits?

Days eventually passed by, yet your brother would not return until the winter which would have been months from now. Even if he were present it would not change anything; your brother was no painter, instead he was a samurai like your father. Upsetting the general’s son could cause the execution of your family line, so fleeing was a futile plan. It was twilight now, the breeze brushed against your face as you headed to the addressed house. There was barely anyone left roaming the streets at this time, so you tried to drown out all the possible noises you could cause when you entered the vicinity. This time you hardly had any excuse or scapegoat to help you out of the situation you were forced in. This time there was a possibility of no return that your life would change forever. Hence, you whispered through the thin door, “Please allow me to enter, Sir Tsukishima.”

You gently pulled the door to the left before bowing down on the floor. Carefully, you enter the room after closing the door behind you; thus, you situate yourself near the chabudai which had been filled with the same materials you used at home. Subsequently, you spoke first breaking the silence within the room, “I apologize for making you wait, but it seems my brother cannot come at your request. He accompanied my father in Hiroshima—“

“How long are you going to keep making excuses?” His tone is harsh as the words escape his lips. Every step he takes pushes you further towards the door until there is no room for escape; his hand holds the door shut while his face hovers inches away from yours. His breath is warm against your face contrasting the cold breeze of autumn, and enough to run a cold hand down your spine. He sighs, “Sit down and paint for me.”

“I beg your pardon. I’m no painter—“

“You’re a horrible liar.” Tsukishima deadpans as he interjects your reasoning. Turning his head to the side, he explains, “I just want you to paint. That’s all.”

After a long pause, you ask, “Why me? There are better artists living downtown who would provide you the service you long for.”

“Utagawa Kuniyoshi taught you ukiyo-e in its rawest form that no individual could replicate. He mastered the genre creating a piece that magnified the reality of a nightmare; indicatively, a man’s nightmare.” The brief explanation he gave you was exactly your first impression towards the painting. Although, you never voiced out your opinion regarding its real meaning, you knew that men feared equality. Perhaps, it would be different in the future or it might remain the same. As long as the traditions and beliefs are passed down suppressing any revolutionary action from the oppressed kind change would only be a fantasy. The world would continue evolving obstructing the ambitions of girls who wish to decide on their own future. Inevitably, Japan would prevail as a conforming nation ostracizing the deviants that may possess a sliver of hope. The lad interrupts your thoughts once more, “If you are the pupil, you have his exact hands. My only request is for you to paint the image that haunts me every night, so that it may finally put me to slumber.”

There’s a silent agreement when you move to sit on the tatami; however, you give him a look as you reconsider. He immediately catches on to your unspoken condition, “I’ll keep your identity a secret.”

“Your father and brother will earn a higher position than they are in now as a reward for your service. Aside from that, I’ll provide you with anything you might need in order to complete my request.” Afterwards, you carry on with the task listening to him explain the vivid details of the dream. The night slowly took over covering the entire prefecture and eventually sleep crept into your fatigued state.

The next morning you had awoken in a different room carefully tucked in a futon. For the meantime while it was still daylight you wrote your mother a letter about the request and the general’s son. Light shone upon the entire house illuminating the roof and the zen garden at the center of the house. At last, you awoke to the sight overwhelming your senses with colors and balance. Walking through the corridors, you catch a glimpse of the lanky blond conversing with an official. From a distance, you notice the dark patches imprinting the skin beneath his eyes—a result of being an insomniac. Suddenly, he turns to you with a blank expression before reverting his attention back to the other male in front of him to see him off.

Tsukishima questions when he returns to you, “Was there something you needed to do today?”

For a considerable amount of time you carefully thought out your response. Honestly showing him the envelope you held, you answered, “I would like to mail this to my mother. I believe this piece would take weeks to a month for me to finish, so it would only be reasonable to keep her from being worried about me.”

“Done. Is that all?” He refers to your fresh appearance, “Were you leaving?”

“Am I allowed to leave?”

A small smirk presents itself briefly on the lad’s face as he fixes his robe, “I won’t hold you captive. You are free to roam wherever you’d like as long as you return and finish my request. Was there some place you had in mind?”

A faint blush tints your cheeks at his manners. You noted that Tsukishima was bold and blunt, but he never came off as a gentleman; however, you were proven wrong. He waits by the door as you walk up to him and whisper, “I’d like to spend a bit of my time today by the river.”

The water easily reflected the sky almost creating a parallel dimension within the river. Fishes were also visible on the surface; the species slithered into the rocks and down the streamline. It was an interesting scene until they all dispersed due to a sudden disturbance. Tsukishima walked towards you before dropping a coat over your head. He crouches down beside you to watch the school of fish wander about the river. It was serene, peaceful and almost eternal.

“I didn’t think possessing my uncle’s talent was a gift. I knew that when I saw the way his face dropped at my mom’s explanation. He was disappointed, but he never let it show in front of me. In reality, I continued to live off his legacy because there was little for a girl like me to do.” You mutter softly while keeping your focus on the flowing water, “Why did you accept me despite being a woman?”

“What difference does it make?” Dipping his hand into the cold river to obtain a rock, he adds, “You’re a woman, yes, but there’s no gratification in being a man either if he so only desires material things. People still die all the same; you can never bring money with you.”

“You bring dignity with you and you carry shame around.” You disagree, but he doesn’t take offence on your statement. Rather, he agrees with a huff observing the translucent manifestation of air escape his mouth. Delicately, he grabs ahold of your hand to put the stone he had selected for you before stating, “That’s true. However, men’s greatest strength also equates to their weakness; their desire is also their fear. Ultimately, man desires woman, it’s innate. Due to that I’m convinced that women have power over men. Initially, I see no difference in your being a woman who has compassion in art.”

“My mother always admired art. She’d look at it everyday and explain her own interpretation to me. If she were still alive today, she’d put your works all over the house.”

Tsukishima was straightforward regarding his feelings and facts. He didn’t like beating around the bush. Petty excuses and compliments never flattered him, and so he’d rather take a harsh statement over the former; ones that point out his mistakes and errors, so he could improve on them later on. The girl, on the contrary, was already an example of polished and skilled that he couldn’t fault her in anyway. Reality was brutal he knew that much, but he could not compare his own experiences with hers; it would’ve been unfair. She was passionate and intelligent about her work that he appreciates her presence as an addition to his daily routine.

Weeks pass with many encounters and silent glances from time to time visibly making every midnight meeting more daunting especially as you neared the end of his request. Peculiarly, you wanted to avoid this night for its illogical, and odd reasoning; your gut could sense an imminent event once you step foot into the room. Shaking off this persistent feeling, you greet him alas before positioning yourself near the chabudai once more. You peak from the corner of your eyes noticing the male comfortably set himself across you. His eyes are fixated on you; consequently, a cold shiver runs down your skin creating goosebumps along the way.

“I prefer your attention elsewhere, Sir Tsukishima. I do not like to be observed like a specimen.” You voice out immediately only to hear a small shift in position made by the boy. Your heart was beating rapidly, so you force yourself to stand and approach the shelves to refill the crimson ink. It had been situated at the top shelf making it unable for you to reach easily, only for him to do it for you. You mutter a small thank you under your breath about to return to the table when he held onto the cabinet corners trapping you like the first time.

“I’d prefer if you dropped the honorifics and look me in the eyes when you speak to me.”

Due to the close proximity, both of you got a decent sense of the other’s scent. Tsukishima gave off an aroma of toasted oak and freshly harvested strawberries. He, on the other hand, could get a faint smell of fabric conditioner, mulberry and metallic dye. It was a rare combination, but it did match your current status as a painter of his.

“Tsukishima,” you obeyed his demand, “may I finish the painting? It’s already nearing sleeping hours.”

He felt the heat radiate off you and the irregular beating of your heart that it intoxicates him. Everything else seemed to drown out when you faced him. His eyes bore into yours, nose against your own, and lips only a few inches apart; these were all the details he mentally engraved in his memory bank. Additionally, he focuses on the way you breathe against him sharp and fast. It’s pure silence that envelopes both of you in the spacious room not because there aren’t any words left, rather none knew where to start. Tsukishima was patient; however, he was an honest man. He pulls you flush against him to observe the blush on your face, but he waits until you relax in his arms. Then, he mutters almost inaudibly, “Would you spend the night with me?”

“Tsukishima,” you whisper, “are you drunk?”

“I’m not.” He said firmly whilst brushing his nose against your skin which made you shiver. Delighted by your response, he move closer until his lips are touching yours and moving against yours as he speaks, “I’m sober and infatuated by you. Each day is fun, it’s interesting, and it’s just full of you.”

“Spend the night here.” It’s a request that both of you want—longing for the other, yet not entirely sure of the feelings between you—so you make up for it. Tsukishima presses his lips against yours patiently letting you follow the movement and pace of his own while he unties the obi of your kimono. He works hastily slipping each robe down your shoulders until you’re left in your undergarments. The immediate rush of blood to your face forces to face something else eliciting a smirk from your partner.

You glare at him for a moment before taking off his clothes. His eyes watch only you even as you take off the remaining garments you had on. Eventually, he snaps out of his trance to strip himself naked.

It’s your first time, but he takes care of you. Tsukishima carries you to his bed where he situates himself between your thighs. He’s rubbing circles around your hips to soothe you before giving you another kiss. It’s his way of pouring out his emotions to you; ones that he couldn’t express properly. After a moment of debating with his own thoughts, he puts you underneath him. He leaves a trail of sloppy kisses down your body until his mouth hovers inches above your entrance.

At this moment, you're devoid of all words--nothing was coherent even the noises that escaped you. His mouth on you was heavenly. Tsukishima flicks his tongue against your nub several times to get you to moan out his name like a reverend. He observes you as you writhe and jolt at his ministrations, but the moment he added a finger into your entrance had you pushing yourself against him more. You were moaning out several pleas to every thrust of his tongue and finger into you, and Tsukishima lived for it. He was humping against the mattress to try and relieve the pain building in his groin.

Tsukishima continued lapping your clit pulling you even closer to him so he could devour more of you. You drawled out, " _Sir_ , no more."

You run your fingers through Tsukishima's hair trying to pull him away because you were getting sensitive. His ears, however, had picked up on the sudden title that you plunged another finger into your hole before hovering above your body.

"Sir?" Tsukishima grins at your sudden outburst. He watched the way your face contorted full of pleasure and pain. The sighs and pants escaping you made his heart race faster. He was going to bring you to orgasm continuously so no one else would occupy your mind except for him. Tsukishima wanted to imprint himself on you as a constant reminder that you were his and that he'd take care of you. He chuckles deeply, "Didn't think you'd have a kink."

You're trembling as the second wave hits you like a train. It's quick and powerful that you start feeling the limpness of your legs. He tastes the essence-covered fingers before smiling coyly at you when he sees you watching him. He compliments, “You taste great.”

Slowly, he moved his clean hand up your tummy before it settle under your boob to cup it and play with the perked nipple. While your mind is busy releasing different hormones into your system, Tsukishima readies himself at your entrance; hence, he whispers into your ear, “Relax.”

Your arms wrap around his shoulders the moment he gets a few inches of his shaft in you. He notes the pain he feels on his back due to blunt cut of your nails digging into his back. He leaves a gentle kiss on your cheek before lowering his head to your neck to leave a few of his marks on the skin. The soft pant of yours doesn’t go unnoticed, so he pushes a bit more until all of him is inside your heat.

After a brief halt, you buck your hips to get some sort of friction. Tsukishima sighs at your sudden movement as it sends tingles down his spine. His heart is about to burst out of his chest when you mutter a please under your breath. Thrusting into your hips at such a brutal speed, Tsukishima pulls your hips up at angle to go deeper. As a result, he hears your choked out moans on repeat. These were all clouding his senses, but he couldn’t be bothered by it since he’d willingly indulge himself in you.

“I’m close, Tsukishima.” The response, however, earns you a slap on the ass before it’s accompanied by a squeeze. He liked the way the title rolled off your tongue—perhaps it was due to the fact that you called him that every time you spoke to him. Instantly, you whimper, “ _sir_.”

Tsukishima pulls out after you reach your climax for the third time. He empties into his hand before walking to the washroom to clean himself up before you. Cleaning you up quickly, he turns to the cabinet for a new set of clothes only to turn to you and see you soundlessly asleep. A genuine smile etched up on his face as he drops the set of clothes back down on the cabinet table to make his way to the bed and cuddle against you. For the first time in years, Tsukishima fell into a deep slumber.

The morning after was tranquil added with sounds of crickets and cold breeze hitting against concrete creating a motion-driven sound. There’s a shift under the blanket; the girl had stirred in position where she could get a clear view of her lover’s sleeping state. However, she moves back and lifts the blanket off her bare body. Disgust and shame run down her system; she’s filled with a loathing that drives her to pack her things up and hastily complete the few details needed in the piece. She had served her purpose, so there was no reason for her to stay. Immediately, she leaves the residence and departs for Edo without writing him a note.

Days move by silently when the lady had finally arrived back in Edo. She hung her head low as she passed by the port only to catch a glimpse of a familiar face—Yuki, a playmate she met years ago. Due to the social status, she wasn’t able to spend time with the other girl; eventually, those families living in poverty left to find work and a stable shelter. Seeing her friend at the port made a piece of herself snap tired of the lifestyle they had to face. An arm, however, stops her from moving any further. She faces the general’s son with anger lashing out at him, but he moves her away from the loading ship. A slap to his face comes after when they’re in a secluded alleyway.

“Why did you follow me?” You exclaimed struggling against him as he keeps you against the wall, “I finished the request, and so what else do you need from me?”

Your face is flushed; you’re trying so hard to hold back tears. However, Tsukishima won’t let up even after you push and punch at him furiously. 

“Women of poor status, daughters of working men may it be merchants or artisans or peasants, are exploited and sold off for the benefit of all men—your pleasure.” You stare him down while you hold onto your weak resolve not sparing him any of your tears, “ _’Why?’_ You wonder. It’s an obvious answer, because we live in a man’s world.”

“Listen to me, the moment you step out of here and speak to those officials is the moment you decide your death. Your position out here is miniscule; no one would listen to you.”

“So you won’t listen to me, because I’m a girl? I don’t have a say in politics, or the economic depression, or my right to live because of my lack of education? Don’t fabricate your words, Tsukishima, you aren’t pleasing anybody. You’re just like your father—thirsty for power—enjoying the docile nature of brainwashed women so that you could rule over their minds and bodies. Did it keep you entertained watching as women submit to you after you seduce them in their line of work to serve you?”

“You’re the only girl I’ve ever been with.” Words stop flowing on your end as you feel your chest hurt. The air you breathe in somehow doesn’t fill the entirety of your lungs, so they continue to search and grasp for oxygen until your heart starts to pump regularly. A confession leaves him while your mind rearranges its jumbled state, “I can’t bear to imagine whatever they’ll do to you once you get into that ship. Do you think I like living in this society? I don’t. My mother died in this society, and my father couldn’t give a damn about it.”

Tsukishima sighs basically making himself vulnerable to you. His eyes are pleading for you to understand. “I don’t want that to happen to you either, because I care about you.”

A new era will be born where everything is different and he’ll be with you through thick and thin. Trust—your mother once said—is important for things to progress. Finally, you mutter, “In the future—“

“I’ll be with you.” Tears streamed down your face as the words hit you fully realizing that Tsukishima was serious about the relationship you had. Tsukishima pulls you into his embrace shielding you from the dangers of this world. Creating a safe haven for you to escape from the harsh realities of the period you lived in.

Tsukishima awakens to the soft chirp of birds coming from the outside as spring returns. Two years and there’s small progress; he helps her in providing safer workplaces for the female tailors in the industry or the farm. A movement in the making.

He puts his arm over the other side only to feel an empty space rather than skin and hair. His eyes shot open alarmed by her absence; thus, he starts scanning the house in paranoia. Tsukishima tries to even his breathing as he opens every door down the hallways before he reaches the one leading to the library. Finally, he sees his lover searching for a title by the shelves.

Folding his arms over his chest, Tsukishima leans to his side while watching the girl. However, he shifts immediately in surprise after calling his attention, “I know you’re there, Kei.”

An arm turns you around allowing you to witness his lazy smile. You greet him until his lips meet yours and his palm brushes down your waist. He pushes you softly against the wooden shelves before pulling you up and letting your legs wrap around his hip. He lifted one of your hands above your hand to cage it against the ledge. Pushing his tongue inside, he explores and relishes the warm cavern of your mouth.

Tsukishima later feels the subtle grind of your hips; consequently, he unzips his pants and lowering it a little to free his erection before lifting your dress above your hips and pulling your garment to the side.

“I love you.” He confesses into your ear as he slowly eases into you. A small whimper escapes you which causes him grin into your hair. The way you anchored onto him causes his mind to short-circuit. His thrusts are slow, yet precise—like a last love confession of the words he could never express, because of his ego—was his way of apologizing for their first meeting and how he could’ve lost you to the officials. He’d never voice out his fear, but in this moment he forgets his pride. Therefore, one last request escapes him.

“Don’t leave me again.”

With a smile, you give him a chaste kiss, “I won’t. I’ll always be here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for supporting this compilation that I almost abandoned. I was gone for six months because of school work and I went away for vacation, so I wasn't really able to update as often as I did before. My writing is somewhat rusty; hence, there will be times when inconsistency takes place among plotlines.
> 
> If you'd like to support me outside of ao3, I run an art account on instagram: @teianjin  
> If you wish to support more of my content you can buy me a coffee: Ko-fi.com/anjin

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome back to the hell hole of Haikyuu. Comment down your requests.


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